Page 29 of Deadly Deception
“Then maybe you should ask him that.” I was getting irritated. DeWayne’s soul had returned to his body eager enough, but his reluctance to answer our questions was causing me physical discomfort. Morally, I was becoming increasingly torn. DeWayne Foster was scared, and the longer we pushed this line of questioning, the more frightened he became.
You know the old saying, “you can’t take it with you”? Maybe the physical things, but not the emotional. It was interesting what remained even after death. Affection for their loved ones, dissatisfaction for the way their life played out or ended, dislike and downright hatred for certain individuals, you name it—whatever the emotion, the soul remembered. The stronger theemotion, the more tenaciously it hung on, and fear was one powerful emotion.
Henson shot me an annoyed glance before asking, “Who’s responsible for your death?”
DeWayne’s soul shut down, pushing hard against my control. While I might not have known DeWayne while he was alive, I knew him in death. DeWayne’s soul wasn’t the purest, but it wasn’t foul either.
My head pounded as DeWayne’s soul actively denied answering.
“Boone.” My name sounded part curse and warning coming from Henson’s lips.
Franklin’s whispered breath ghosted across the shell of my ear. “What’s wrong?”
My eyes squinted with the pain. “He’s afraid. DeWayne’s fighting my control.”
“Afraid?” Henson asked, clearly not believing me. “Of what? The man’s already dead.”
My glare was automatic. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I believe we already know DeWayne is deceased. Obviously, he’s not afraid of dying again.”
“Then what? I need a damn answer here.”
“Let him work, Alfonse. This is what Necromancer Boone is trained to do.” Dr. Scott’s words were like a cold drink of water, instantly cooling Henson’s anger.
I gave Dr. Scott a grateful nod before turning my attention back to our victim. “DeWayne, what are you afraid of? Why won’t you tell us who’s responsible for your death?”
“He’s a ghost. The devil.” I had to strain to hear DeWayne’s words.
I glanced at Henson, expecting to see irate confusion. Instead, what I saw was worried understanding. I started to askHenson what he knew, but the man surprised me by asking, “Describe him. What does thisghostlook like?”
DeWayne shook his head, the motion stiff. “Don’t know. Never seen him. That’s why he’s a ghost. No one ever sees him. That don’t matter. He finds you anyway.”
Much taller than me, Franklin’s words traveled over my head as he asked Henson, “You know who he’s talking about, don’t you?”
Henson rubbed his jaw before giving a reluctant nod and answering, “Vanja.”
DeWayne’s corpse rolled in on itself, shoulders hunching and eyes scrunched shut. His fists clenched, and DeWayne’s mouth opened in a silent scream. DeWayne’s reaction was more powerful than any words.
“Fucking shit,” Henson spat.
“Wait, I know that name,” Franklin said. “It’s the same name Hemsworth said.”
Elias Hemsworth hadn’t been nearly as afraid as DeWayne Foster. I wasn’t certain why and had a feeling I didn’t want to find out. I also had a feeling I wouldn’t have a choice.
Anger swept fleetingly across Henson’s features, tightening his jaw and narrowing his eyes. I didn’t think he was angry at Franklin per se, more the fact that what Franklin said was true and pointed to a rather upsetting scenario. I had no idea if this Vanja character hadn’t suffered the fate Henson thought of, or if he’d been resurrected and was out there tormenting the local area once more. Regardless, the very idea the Vanja was responsible for at least two bodies currently sitting in the LaPorte County morgue raised Henson’s hackles. I had a strong suspicion some of the others I’d found today could also lay their C.O.D. at Vanja’s feet.
“Let him go,” Henson ordered me. “I’ve heard enough.”
I silently wondered about that, but didn’t feel like arguing, especially considering the fear lacing DeWayne’s soul. Fear soured the soul and left a filmy ick lingering on my insides. I hated bringing fearful souls back even more than furious ones.
“What was said in this room goes no further,” Henson needlessly warned Franklin and me.
“It won’t matter,” DeWayne said unprompted. “He’s got eyes and ears everywhere. The cops ain’t no different. He’ll know, and he’ll come for you before you can come for him. He’s the devil. A ghost devil.” DeWayne’s corpse shivered, hopelessness filling in the cracks in his fear, making his soul heavy and morose.
Acting on Henson’s earlierrequest, I said, “DeWayne Joseph Foster, I release your soul. May you find peace.”
Dr. Scott ran forward, her hands catching DeWayne’s corpse before it could tumble off the table. I quickly moved to help her while Sheriff Henson stood wide-eyed at the sidelines. Between the two of us, we laid DeWayne’s body back down on the gurney, and Dr. Scott covered it back up with the sheet.
Silence encompassed the room. DeWayne’s parting words sat in my belly like food poisoning. At least the nausea took some of the attention away from my aching head. The last pain charm I’d activated was running out. Reaching into my pocket, I activated another one, thankful that the charms didn’t negatively affect me. The relief was instantaneous, and I practically melted into Franklin’s broad chest as he came up behind me again.
